<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>iv; Hellscape by Theo_Thaur</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26837668">iv; Hellscape</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur'>Theo_Thaur</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>31 Days of TUA Whump [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Child!Klaus, Flashbacks, Gen, I tried to be a canon compliant as possible, I wrote him to be around 15 in this, I've been WAITIN for this one, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, One Shot, The Mausoleum (Umbrella Academy), Whump, Whumptober 2020, based on the mausoleum scene from S1 EP4, there's a lot of inconsistency in how old Klaus was when this stuff happened, turn it up!!! :D</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:26:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26837668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whumptober 2020 submission. No 4. "RUNNING OUT OF TIME": Caged, Collapsed Building.<br/>------<br/>Klaus finds himself back in the mausoleum, but for the first time in years without anything to dull the voices. Their screams only grow louder.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>31 Days of TUA Whump [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>iv; Hellscape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TRIGGERS: childhood trauma, underage drinking, underage drug use, somewhat implied dependency, child abuse, locked up against will, injury, claustrophobia TW to those that are sensitive to it although it isn't a focus, dead bodies/ghouls.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>iv; Hellscape</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      Reginald had always made fun ways of trying to get each one of them to 'live up to their potential'. Much in the same way that he really loved throwing them into danger during missions, individual training was a means of trial by fire. Put enough pressure on a piece of coal and it turns into a diamond, right? They were all forbidden from talking about individual training, Klaus was half-willing to joke that it was because it didn't make for very pleasant conversation for their thirty minutes of playtime a day. It was probably closer along the lines of not wanting disturbance among the ranks, or Reginald's usual hard-on for rules. As far as Klaus could say, none of them really knew the details of anyone else's 'sentence'; the Umbrella Academy was a place where it was damn hard to gossip. It would really suck if the others had found some means of conversation and just not bothered telling him, though. But there was some reading in between the lines. Diego and Luther both were the most likely to appear physically hurt; Diego usually bruised and Luther usually gashed or occasionally with a sprained muscle. He had absolutely no clue what Allison's situation was, and on the other hand, Vanya was a shut book, Five was gone --but had been getting into various complex math-y physic-y things judging by the textbooks Klaus had snooped on. Ben the poor schmuck was probably stuck between visiting aquariums and having shit thrown at him, or something. Klaus also went on field trips, for that matter, and his own course of training was the only he could describe in great detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      To some extent he guessed that most of them were made to do reading, which was variably a good use of time, depending on the circumstances. Again, Klaus readily assumed that Reginald was interested in giving them rules, and making them shut up by assigning reading. Plus, ole paps still saw them as a family in name only and a school in every other aspect. If it meant that Klaus didn't have to learn anything more complicated than long division, and didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to be urged to use his powers since they couldn't always go on missions, that seemed like a good thing. He was made to read up a lot of history, particularly a lot of biographies from dead people that had experienced great betrayal or short-comings. Happy stuff. Marginally more interesting was religious information from a wide variety of cultures, although 'New Age' thinking was not one of those cultures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Then, there were those 'field trips', that was how Klaus thought of them at least. Maybe it was just easier to think of them in that way, to get the joke rolling in his head. He'd gone through five rounds of mausoleum visits, starting at eight and happening sporadically ever since. Klaus had once believed that meant Reginald was taking some pity on him, by spacing it out. But a few years down the road and he'd decided that it was only because Reginald couldn't have him sleeping on a cold slab every night if Klaus was to be the best child soldier he could --yay? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>------*´｡*ﾟ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>      It was individual study time and Klaus was doing his usual, flipping through pages of a biography on some dead person. Reginald didn't make an effort to quiz him routinely, but would occasionally ask a question about the reading and Klaus never knew the answer. Then Reggie just gave a severe look and turned away. He would've liked to listen to music but unfortunately that privilege had been taken away from Klaus after jamming to 'Wannabe' by the Spice Girls while learning about victims from the Titanic. He'd been camped out in a section of the library, specifically planted there so that Pogo could cast a watchful eye and play chaperone. Klaus was reading something about some woman and the Puritan culture of the area as the match that set fire to the Salem witch trials. A real page turner, maybe, if it hadn't read like a repair manual or one of Luther's stupid little booklets on model airplane assembly. Klaus heard a pair of heels clacking over to him on the hardwood. That was a sound he was beginning to find himself more familiar with, personally. He'd been hoping Grace had made a snack, but she came with nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Klaus," she started, "you know that's no way to sit in a chair." He cracked a lopsided smile, having not noticed he'd been practically sprawled across the armchair. He corrected himself at her request, setting down both feet parallel to the floor. There was no telling how long that'd last though. He usually found himself upside down by the end of individual sessions. Pogo had stopped trying to get him to sit right as long as his shoes didn't mess up the upholstery and he didn't fall asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Better?" He asked. Mom nodded, her s-curl waves bouncing only slightly. Klaus still wondered how she pulled neat waves and victory rolls when he couldn't even straighten his hair without burning himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Your father has requested that I collect you," she said, pleasantly, but immediately Klaus felt uneasy. Reginald hated giving any of his children the time of day, so that could mean one of a few different things. Maybe it was that the old man had figured out that Klaus had taken to sneaking out at night to get booze or tentatively flirt with people a few too many years older. Maybe Reg was finally going to blow a gasket about Klaus not trying hard enough at doing something Klaus had never asked to do. Truth was, he had practically written a full catalog of potential no-nos, a catalog that was only being given more pages by the day. From 'stealing' Vanya's skirt in exchange for pants, to smoking weed an hour before a mission, he did a lot of things that Reginald could get mad over and want to see him for. But Klaus thought of one thing and one thing only. He was being taken back to the mausoleum. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      The cat had been out of the bag long before Klaus could remember, but at first, Reginald's way of expecting him to raise the dead had been less involved. Quiet walks near graveyards, being taken into missions and watched particularly carefully around any fresh corpses… By no means blissful or harmless exposure, but it had taught Klaus how to run from the spirits. Maybe they'd begun to follow him, or maybe his powers had gotten stronger, but the distance had started to work less and less. It took more to get away. He'd started to try and find ways to hide when plugging his ears couldn't stop it, muting it out with music or tactile sensations. Klaus had still woken countless nights, in pajamas that clung to him with sweat. The first time he'd turned to a substance was at thirteen. It had been warm out, the others were playing outside in their moment of free time, but he'd been too tired from the night before. Even during the day, he'd felt half alive, rubbing at his eyes and yawning, even snapping at one of the others for something he could no longer remember. The thought had entered his mind and he'd done it out of total impulse, picking the lock of Reginald's liquor cabinet and downing the first thing he'd wrapped his hand around. It had been bitter and dry, he'd just barely put it back (or close enough), before collapsing onto a couch and falling asleep. He'd been woken up a half an hour later and gotten sick during lunch, but it had been worth it; the ghouls for once had not found him in his dream.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      From then on he'd begun to weasel his way into avoiding the spirits. It had started off harmless, a sip of old brandy, but within a year it didn't work as well as it had. Getting out of bed one night, Klaus creeped out into the hallway, into Diego's room. He knocked softly before coming in and turning on the light. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      "Ugh, really?" Diego groaned, putting a pillow over his face. "Whaaat?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      "Do you… wanna go out? For a drink?" Klaus had remembered trying to sound sure of himself. Adult-like. Diego had been quiet for a few moments and Klaus had thought he'd fallen back asleep. He would've let Diego. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      "There's OJ in the fridge. Some of us are tryna sleep here," Diego muttered, Klaus had to strain to catch it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      "I meant like… beer, I guess. Or something." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      "Go back to bed." Diego had probably just thought Klaus had been fucking with him, they were hardly teenagers. Reginald hadn't begun monitoring anyone else but Luther as they slept. Klaus had left quietly, but he'd ended up sneaking out anyways. No luck that night, but the seed had been planted in his mind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Over the span of a couple of years, he'd figured a little bit more about how the world worked. It was easier to pay someone of age to go in and buy something, than to try and disguise himself to look older. It was even easier to swipe a bottle from a drunkard before they knew it was missing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Since eight, when being trapped in the mausoleum he'd made sure to get drunk first or bring a flask. But usually he'd had some kind of warning sign to get wasted before it was too late. He remembered the ghouls, the way they'd convulsed in front of him, trying to pull him under and take him with them, screaming his name--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Klaus?" A voice asked gently. He blinked, coming back into the real world. Mom was knelt closer, leaning down to his level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "...Sorry," he answered. She beamed, straightening and brushing off her skirt as if nothing had happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Come on, let's get going then," Grace held out her hand, and Klaus set the book down to take it. He hadn't realized until that moment, that he'd accidentally bent a few pages because of his grip tightening around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Are you sure I can't stop in my room? I need to grab something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Your father has requested that I collect you," she repeated, tugging him forward towards the office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "No, you don't get it, I just need one thing," Klaus said. He'd had a little alcohol in the morning just for what he called good measure, but it was nowhere as drunk as he needed to be to totally block them out in the old stomping grounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "You'll be fine, dear," Grace replied unhelpfully. Klaus tried to get away, but her grip was too strong on his hand. They were in his office within a minute. Reginald had been standing, and was looking at his pocketwatch when they'd arrived by the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Very well, Number Four," Reginald said with a sigh, "you've already made yourself late, no use dawdling now." He took Klaus alone out of the academy. Training procedures were taken seriously, Klaus doubted even Grace knew anything exact. He wanted to run, he wasn't being </span>
  <em>
    <span>forced</span>
  </em>
  <span> to follow, but Klaus knew resisting would only mean he had to stay there longer. The mausoleum was a true field trip, a block or two away from the Umbrella Academy, though it would've made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of sense if the place had been built on a burial ground. Klaus pondered the affability of the drivers passing by them on the road, if he could pitch himself under a wheel and end up with a broken leg or two. He had no reason to believe his timing was that good, but it was a thought that made him feel better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The crypt was a relatively small site, tucked away on the edge of a gated graveyard, but much more pretentious from just the outside than the other graves. Klaus shivered, pulling at his collar a little before Reginald slapped his hand away, pushing him forward into the graveyard. Consecrated ground made him immediately uneasy, it was one of the few places he could never see himself barefoot. He thought he heard something, taking the first few steps as Reginald's gaze burnt into his back. But Klaus glanced over at the noise, and it was no more than the breeze stripping away dead leaves from a tall oak tree. They feathered down onto the ground. Klaus kicked at a few as he walked, head down on a bee-line to the mausoleum. Somehow focusing on putting one foot in front of another was easier than looking at the rows of graves, as long as he didn't think about the destination he was forcing his body closer to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Finally, he stopped dead in his tracks. Two doors stood in front of him. They weren't quite as tall as he remembered from last time, but even so they kept him from feeling at ease. Reginald drew out a long, thin key from his pocket, sliding into the lock. He turned it and the lock clicked. Klaus had hoped it just wouldn't work. "This is being done for your own good, Number Four," Reginald asserted. Klaus didn't say anything, turning to take one last look around. Suddenly the other graves didn't seem so bad, but what was really on his mind was sprinting up to the fence and climbing over it. He could fend for himself in the city, right? "Go," Reginald ordered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "Alright, alright…" Klaus shuffled inside resentfully, no sooner was he there that the doors shut behind him and locked. Beloved pops didn't waste any time. It was cool inside, how he always remembered it. A single window let in a small portion of light, through interlocking bars. He thought of that as his clock, but especially in the dead of night it was little more than a hole letting in air --never enough for him to freeze but too little to make him feel particularly well-ventilated, rather than stuffed in an over glorified tomb. Speaking of ventilation, that wasn't exactly top of the line to begin with. It always smelled a little like dust and rot, the place wasn't exactly well-kept. Leaves blew in frequently, and the place hadn't been renovated for centuries, so the corpses more or less did whatever they wanted. The various smells of decomposition had made him nearly sick before, especially during his first time, but in a fucked up way Klaus knew from experience that his nose got used to it. Besides, it wasn't the corpses that would hurt him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>------*´｡*ﾟ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>      Noises began to creep in slowly, Klaus couldn't say if it was the ghouls becoming aware of his presence, or the alcohol slowly wearing off. It had started off almost like dripping, a soft tap-tap-tap on the stone floors. But then it had grown a little closer, the noise starting to drag out, like nails scratching a long, thin line, continuous and coming ever closer… Then, he'd started to hear screams, high pitched and blood-curdling, like banshees. The wind had begun to whistle, the shrieks variably matching the low echoes of Klaus shifting to curl in on himself or the high skittering of leaves. He closed his eyes, but that did very little. Flashes of white began to attack from behind his eyelids, and at last he saw them. Hands, different from his own, reaching out and trying to touch him and pull him into a million different directions. It only grew worse, as faces began to appear. He never saw them clearly, but he saw enough to be haunted by it. Pallor, sagging skin tried to stretch over deep eye sockets and lips that curled with anger and vitriol. Matted hair puffed up around and sometimes over faces, appearing like the backs of wild animals. Other times the hair was greasy, slicked down by grease or blood or sweat and thinning. They said more than his name, although that was all Klaus understood and no more needed to be exchanged. Klaus knew somehow that they either wanted to drag him into their suffering, or seeked freedom from their lives chained to a crypt --and would </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have a body to leave in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He'd turned his back to the wide mouth of the mausoleum, which led up to the door, as if facing a wall would make them go away. The real reason was, at least pressing his face to the wall, cold and chipping, gave him some feeling of alertness. All the same, it meant his back was exposed, there was really no way to 'hide under the covers'. He didn't know how long he'd been there, how long it would be until Reginald came back to check in on him. At some point he'd started crying and at another, between the cold and the tears, his nose had begun to run. Klaus had gotten to the age where he didn't want to be thought of as some weak little kid, where he had begun to consult his appearance in mirrors and discern what uniform alternations he could get away with. But in the lonliness of the crypt it didn't matter, there was no one there to watch him suffer except the vengeful spirits. At some point he himself had started screaming, it was the only thing that made him feel like he could hear himself think. Klaus hadn't noticed that he'd been yelling until he took in a shaking breath and found that his vocal chords stung. His nails had at one point dug in for purchase against the wall, like if he tried hard enough he'd break out into the real world, where 'fathers' didn't lock up their children and babies never started crying in the middle of the night, after being woken by the whispers of dead men. He was painfully sobered, needing nothing more than a drink. Or really </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop the voices in his head that constricted his thoughts and battled him in ways none of the others could look at the day after and pick apart the cause of. His earlier thoughts had quieted, having once been desperate and consisting of promises to later get so drunk he couldn't remember anything, or trying to scour around for a blunt someone had misplaced in the streets. He only had the mind to think that he needed to escape --the most basic push for survival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And then, Klaus did something he couldn't even begin to explain. All he'd been thinking was </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out get out get out get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as faces ogled and scowled and beckoned, and then, he'd felt something. Some distant off thread, in the same inexplicable space the ghouls tormented him in. Klaus hadn't known what it was but he'd scrambled for any change, just crazy enough to take it and yank closer. It was the only thing that felt solid of tides of pure black and flesh, he felt as if he needed it in the same way a drowning person grasped at flotsam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His eyes flung open, and Klaus turned to stare at what he'd done. His fists were a bright blue, which danced and lit up the stone. Several people stood before him, blue and ragged. He knew those faces, they were in no more detail than he'd seen before. The bodies were worse, smudged and blurred, but the feeling of power rose past the fear. They were staring at him, but saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then, all at once, they hoarded together in a confusing mix, working to accomplish Klaus' most pressing desire and charging against the door. Their bodies, although making no noise between themselves, caused the door to rattle, and Klaus forced them to keep moving as he anticipated the feeling of fresh air. He heard a cracking noise begin, which spurred him on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It happened at once. The doors fell forward, breaking away from the ceiling. Klaus was looking up when the heavy catacomb ceiling peeled away in a large sheet, a wave that struck all at once. Some of it fell and cracked into pieces on the floor, being of the same color and texture and nearly impossible to tell floor from ceiling. He braced his hands over his head, a jagged piece a little larger than his head crashing down onto his shielding forearms, the bone immediately ringing from the impact and skin starting to bleed open from a tear, even as the chunk tumbled off in another direction post-impact. It took him a moment to realize his left leg was crushed, as his heart still beat out of shock and adrenaline from having avoided head trauma. Just under his knee, a brick had planted, sticking out an odd angle between folds of skin. Klaus attempted to stand but couldn't in the slightest. Even disregarding the heavy bricks over his body, his knee would not right itself, it couldn't bend at all. Klaus felt dizzy and even colder than he'd been when the crypt had stood, the pain was numbing at an alarming pace and the sun felt like it was setting too fast. "HELP!" He screamed out, blanching as he reminded himself of those ghouls, and the way they'd screeched out into limbo for anyone --but ultimately almost no one-- to hear. Their blue forms had disappeared as soon as the mausoleum had crumbled, Klaus heard nothing but the sounds of the city wrapped quietly around him. All was still. Someone was coming for him, right?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>